I Touch Beauty Daily

I Touch Beauty Daily

Saturday, February 25, 2012

BE CAREFUL

Editorial: Usually, I avoid posting a comment about the topic of my poem, preferring to let the voice of the poem speak for itself. Today marks an exception. As tongues wag about Whitney Houston, and as someone who has been embroiled in several episodes of death, I ask people to be careful what they say to the survivors of the dead. There are they-said-that-she-said incidents involving Aretha Franklin about Whitney. People need to be quiet and let the bereaved mourn in peace. Because of intense pain, anything you say will be taken out of context. That is a given.

I was very angry with death as it was, but when people who called themselves my "friends" found themselves trying to sound wise at a very difficult time in my life with both my parents passing and losing my siblings, I cut off from them so that I could mourn in peace and save my sanity. Consequently, I changed my telephone number, moved out of where I lived, and lost all contact intentionally. Therefore, be very careful what you say to the bereaved. Anything you say will be taken out of context. Let silence speak for you.

****This posting is in honor and remembrance of my dead and in recognition of the two-week death anniversary of Whitney Houston.
 ========================================================
Be Careful
 
Be careful what you say to a bereaved
Who has lost someone dear
Be careful what you do to a bereaved
Who has lost someone much loved
Your presence more valuable
Than anything you could ever say
Being there more important
Than anything you could ever do
Please do not give lame consolations
About loved one being in a better place
Or going home or answering a call
Or the sun coming out tomorrow
Or being able to smile someday
Anger sufficient food to feed on
Anger sufficient clothing for warmth
Anger sufficient shelter to live in
Losing you because of what you say
Feels like nothing compared
To this pain that eats the inside
Asking you to leave with your flowers
Will douse the extra pain you caused
By your supposed compassion
Be on pins and needles, do you hear?
Sigh constantly with the overwhelming
Lack of appropriate words to utter
Practice empathy, shed a tear honestly
Give a hug, cook a meal, hold a hand
Stay till late, spend the night
Spend more time
Act like time froze in place
Do not talk about the living
Or fashion, goals, wealth, job
Close the mouth; open the ears
Listen to the consoling silence
Sigh constantly with the overwhelming
Lack of appropriate words to utter
But be careful what you say or do
To a bereaved who has lost someone dear

©1997FrancesOhanenye


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Clouds Passing


The psychologist asked
How does that make you feel
The clouds are passing
Migrating north east
What could cause this exodus
How does that make you feel

Blankets of whiteness flow
Uniformity of motion glide
Hiding the sun behind the brave
How does that make you feel

Is the root of clouds passing
Because my mother liked clouds
Because my mother watched clouds
Deciphering hidden messages
Of rains’ tearful surprises on
Unsuspecting perambulators
Is that the root of all my angst
How does that make me feel

That the blue provides transportation
The means of clouds speedily passing
Going their merry ways to unknown
How does that make me feel

That refrain annoys the dickens
Clouds move; rain falls
Life must go on; humanity must thrive
Don’t ask me that question
Unconnected to my essence’s core
It doesn’t make me feel anything
Find another angle of relevance
The inner sanctuary of my being
How does that make you feel now,
My eminent psychologist
How does my answer make you feel?


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Eleven Shades


By birth, always positional
Aware of my perfect place
Happy Black History Month!
(c)pix2012FrancesOhanenye
On the spectrum of family paternal
My ancestry, I readily trace
Stratified on birth’s timeline
Creating offspring so, so fine
Always been the middle child
As far as gender issue goes
Always been the last child
Being spoiled, I assembled foes

Somewhere in family lineage
Position the generations of faces
Creating a spectrum in our age
Having mixed genes with other races
History’s revelation of Israel’s descent
Followed all the way to Nigeria’s extent
At least vying are eleven shades
Placed precisely by ascension
Beautiful hues abound in spades
Mixtures flow over the generation

Perfectly placed in the middle
Not the shade of one too light 
Just the shade with enough meddle
Not the shade too dark as night
But a shade dubbed light chocolate
Perfect mixture, better than a gimlet
Eleven shades of perfect hues mixed
Stratified on black people’s pride
Such variations cause joy, not nixed
Conquering, straddling, all hate astride

 
©2006FrancesOhanenye

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Loving U Is A-2-Z

At-first-sight-love
Beaming-smiler
Centerfold-calibre
Defender-of-my-virtue
Effortless-date
Fascinating-accomplisher
Gift-of-gab-persuader
Habitué-of-my-abode
Insatiable-donor
Jester-my-jester
Kingly-kindness
Lover-of-my-soul
Mandarin-sweet-personality
Novelty-enduring-man
On-knee-ring-proposer
Paragon-of-piety-Christian
Queuer-of-my-good-qualities
Radiator-in-winter-body
Sucrose-powdered-lips
Tête-à-tête-plotter
Ultimate-male-essence
Virile-virtuoso
Warrantor-of-life-long-marriage
Xylophone-player-of-my-rib-bars
Yang-to-my-Yin-perfecter
Zealous-father-pacifier
Happy Valentine's Day!
(c)pix2012FrancesOhanenye


©1991FrancesOhanenye
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Monday, February 13, 2012

The Date Is Blind No Longer


It’s blind
But he can see
So can I 
Valentine's Day dinner for two
(c)pix2012FrancesOhanenye
It’s just the date
That’s blind
I did see him
In my mind
I did hear his voice
In my head
Preparing to meet him
This stranger I’ve known
But have not seen
Left: Pulse Raised; Right: Laughter Heard
(c)pix2012FrancesOhanenye
Only in my mind’s eye
Wondering if the date
Is still blind
Since I did see him
In my mind’s eye

Should I go
Or should I stay
At home doing chores?
Should I go
To a pulse raised
To a laughter heard
Me in his lenses
And cause a change
So date and love
Will have vision to see
What I’ve seen
So date and love
Will be blind no longer?
Should I go
Or should I stay?

The date should be blind
No longer 


©1999FrancesOhanenye

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

His Eyes Make Me Move


Awareness of his loving eyes
Full of admiration and love
Full of tenderness
Filled with naughtiness
Causes my moves
Causes raised pulses
To sing and dance

The feel of his gaze
On my stepping-away back
Causes confidence in the steps
Moving for moving sake
Causes a sway in hips
Causes a swagger in steps
Causes jauntiness
In the legs that will return

The certainty of his affection
Causes a pivotal playfulness
In the heart that overflows
In the eyes that behold 
In the arms that stretch open
In the steps propelling
With sure knowledge 
Of the eyes watching me
Make exaggerated motions
My pores pouring out
The emotions filling
With sure knowledge
Of him watching me
Just watching me move

I love you
Watching me move

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Dining Yoga


Yoga discovered my soul’s yearn
Desire to work up thinness’ stability
Desire to maintain
Break no sweat
Graceful posture meditates for me
Reaching enlightenment’s path
Reach my being’s solid
Foundation’s firm footing
Acceptance is a weight-losers difficulty
Strive to reach loss’ no-loss pinnacle
Splurging on heavy lunches
Piling calorie no-count breakfast
Someone has to pay for liberty
Living well comes with a price
Sacrifice required as late-night abstinence
I dined on Hatha Yoga


©2012FrancesOhanenye
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Arm Confidence


Sure of the road ahead
Striding, marching, subjected to praises
Made bold in stance and voice
Right-handed certainty speaks of narrow-mindedness
Confidence suffused from birth grows deftly
Nurtured, overworked, unbalanced with chores
Yet perceiving the labor one of love, no choice
Underpaid, unappreciated, constantly busy
The right hand built on mind’s assurance
Moved mountains, drained oceans, flew miles

Unsure of road ahead
Tottering, tittering, subjected to verbal abuse
Made ungainly in stance and manner
Treatment of silent unappreciation
Left hand, the neglected child of chores
Disused, underachieving, underutilized
Lack of attention, the antithesis of loving care
Unequipped to cater to self, let alone others
Undeveloped muscles deter duties with defiance

For the left handed, reverse your brain
For the ambidextrous, double the confidence
Right hand rules, being the majority


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.